


Prelude to Bowmore 12

by HyfrydCymru



Series: 30 Days Challenge [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyfrydCymru/pseuds/HyfrydCymru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you,” slurred the moment Arthur had walked through the door of Ireland’s favourite pub to pick him up. “I love you,” repeated as Patrick choked on his drink and Arthur said nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to Bowmore 12

Arthur was driving that afternoon, and for once, Alasdair found he didn’t mind the muffled whirring the Chevy’s old engine. A phenomenon product of a few pints, no doubt, but even those had begun to slip away and him to sober up after the initial quarter of an hour of the thirty-minute ride back home. 

       Pulling into the driveway, Arthur took his time in turning off the engine, and pulling out the keys from the ignition. Alasdair snapped off his seatbelt and waited but somehow, neither made an attempt to exit the car, or questioned the matter, choosing instead to sit in silence. Alasdair had wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

(“I love you,” slurred the moment Arthur had walked through the door of Ireland’s favourite pub to pick him up. “I love you,” repeated as Patrick choked on his drink and Arthur said nothing.)

“Alasdair,” Arthur’s voice was tight, caught between a question and a request; a thing of wonder he’d never thought he’d hear from the likes of his brother.

Alasdair turned towards it, and directly into Arthur’s thin lips pressing a novice kiss to his.

            It lasted a second before Arthur pulled back and bolted for the car’s door, cursing under his breath when Alasdair pulled him back and pinned him to the seat to crash their lips back together. Torn between pushing Scotland away, or pulling him closer, Arthur’s hands go caught in between them and fisted Alasdair’s shirt until his knuckles went white. Slowly but surely, he began to relax his hold, and when Alasdair felt Arthur’s hands trace soft circles up to his shoulders he slipped his tongue past Arthur’s lips, deepening the kiss as best he could from the awkward sideways angle he’d caught Arthur´s lips in.

            They parted; Alasdair rested his forehead on Arthur’s and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of hands coming to rest at the sides of his neck and stroking the dark stubble on his chin.

            It was with a mild degree of reluctance that they left their awkward embrace in the car to head inside the house, but reluctance soon turned to eagerness when the door closed behind them. They kissed hard, clung to each other like any failure to do so would tear them apart again. (It made for an interesting run up the stairs, until Alasdair decided he’d had enough and picked Arthur up, hooking his arms underneath the scunner’s slighter thighs as legs wrapped around his middle and intent hands tangled in his hair). Reaching the bedroom in a heartbeat, he dropped Arthur on the bed and settled atop of him, letting his hand roam, as he never quite decided where he liked them best. He’d started to trail the inside of Arthur’s thighs when the hand in his hair tugged firmly.

“Alasdair, wait,” muffled by their kiss but no less decisive, the words snapped Alasdair into attention and he halted his movements.

            _Too fast,_ Alasdair’s mind supplied, and he eased away from the figure beneath him.

When Arthur reaches up to kiss his jaw, Alasdair steps further away to let him stand and sits in the newly vacated bed, watching Arthur head towards the door. He wants to call Arthur back, but doesn’t have to. Muttering nonsense talk about decency, Arthur shuts the door, locks it, and then walks right back to Alasdair’s arms, leaning a knee on the gap of bed between his spread legs, and leaning down to kiss him again.

            They are back to tenderfoot kisses bordering on chaste, when Alasdair’s hands come to a stop at the collar of Arthur’s shirt and the border where it meets his jacket.

“May I?”

            Arthur hesitates, then nods; Alasdair finds a new kind of satisfaction in slipping his hands underneath the jacket to let it slide down Arthur’s arms, following it down and then trailing his hands back up the same path. He leaves Arthur’s lips in favour of the racing pulse of his throat and unbuttons the shirt unhurriedly (triesto, succeeds with the first three buttons, rips the rest off with an exasperated huff). Arthur doesn’t complain, shrugs it off and slides his hands underneath the fabric of Alasdair’s jumper. Running his hands down Alasdair’s sides he is fascinated by the strength under his fingertips, Alasdair tensing under the cold touch of his hand. He reached further and settled on tracing words on Alasdair’s back, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing and lulled by the rhythm followed by Alasdair’s kisses.

            Alasdair stood then, taking Arthur with him and reversing their position again; Arthur on his back, further up the bed, and Alasdair kneeling above him. He eyed the lad underneath him with thawing eyes and brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes. Arthur caught his hand before it pulled away and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckled with a covetable leer that spoke straight to Alasdair’s groin.

            It was a mere moment later, when he’d been in the process of removing his jumper and had somehow gotten stuck in the blasted thing, that Arthur snorted and the spell shattered.

“Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

“Hold still,” Arthur twisted from underneath Alasdair and half-kneeled in front of him to tug on the woollen fabric.

“FUCK.”

“Hold still!”

            Alasdair came free with a grunt, face flushed and scowling so intently as he thrashed about in the last moments of his struggle that Arthur had to laugh and then lean forwards to kiss him hard. First it was Alasdair’s lips he claimed, then the corner of his mouth and the edge of his jaw as he set his hand to cup his face. He trailed his kisses to the hollow of his throat, hands roving lower to hold his shoulders, then pressed languid brushes of tongue to his clavicle, then his sternum. Shame of the jumper struggle forgotten, Alasdair was content to let him lavish attention on his chest and warmed underneath Arthur’s touch.

 His patience frayed with the soft brush of a whisper over his heart and he wrenched Arthur up against him; swallowed a groan from Arthur’s lips when he kissed him like a man drowning.

            Buckles were undone in between gasps and dark oaths, shoes sent flying off the bed to knock over an array of objects from the dresser. Arthur grumbled a complaint against Alasdair’s neck at the sound of something crystal smashing into the carpet but held on tighter, responding to every grope with one of his own. Every brush of bare skin felt too hot and not enough.

            Shoving aside every other piece of clothing, Arthur skimmed his hands down Alasdair’s body to tug lightly on the darker auburn hair that trailed low on his abdomen. Alasdair hissed and kissed him deeper, digging his fingers into the pale flesh of Arthur’s thighs and pulling him closer.

“God, drawer,” Arthur breathed out.

            Furrowing his brow, Alasdair pulled back to fix Arthur an addled look. Arthur cleared his throat, flushed peat red.

“Condoms,” he gestured with a tilt of his head.

“Oh,” was all Alasdair thought to respond.

            Arthur shifted from where he was pressed to Alasdair and pushed him softly down into the bed, hands unshaking. Alasdair watched him with a sound expression as he reached to the bedside and rummaged through whatever had been shoved into the top drawer to be forgotten until he found a bottle of clear liquid and a metallic wrapper. He set them to the side and Alasdair followed the progress of Arthur’s blush down his collarbone as he spread his legs to straddle Scotland properly. He reached upwards for Arthur’s face then, and pulled him down for a kiss that lasted until their lungs ached and both became truly aware of what they were about to do.

            It was uncomfortable, and Arthur couldn’t quite stretch himself properly this way, he knew, but he’d been unwilling to let Alasdair do it for him, so he’d settled for tracing patterns on Arthur’s hips and leaning up until he was sitting to murmur a wealth of nothings into Arthur’s shoulder.

He hissed and bit down when England fisted his cock and moved back to pump along the shaft a few times and roll the condom on slower than strictly necessary, just to hear Scotland moan.

“Laddie,” Alasdair drew him closer and buried his face on the side of Arthur’s neck, guiding him down onto his length and rubbing his back, hoping to ease whatever discomfort he might feel. “Laddie.”

            Arthur breathed in deeply to relax but couldn’t help tensing every now and again, letting himself adjust before pushing down again, until he’d taken all of Scotland in and could rest on Alasdair’s thighs beneath him.

            Arthur didn’t wait too long before raising his hips and lowering them again, setting a slow pace Alasdair could follow and help him through easily, keeping still underneath him save for the low shift of his hips, until he was sure it was safe for him to begin to thrust up harder and tighten his hold on Arthur.

            It was a bit more painful than usual and Alasdair kept slipping out, but it felt good. It was warm.

             It took a mere few more thrusts for Alasdair to come and Arthur rode him through it with a kiss, until Alasdair shuddered and panted, spent; Arthur followed shortly after, spilling into Alasdair’s fist with a quiet gasp, relaxing in his hold and dropping his head onto Alasdair’s shoulder.

            It was quiet after that, and Alasdair took care of lowering Arthur gently back onto the bed and slipping out before standing up and walking over to the bathroom, turning on the lights to throw the condom out and pick a towel on the way for England.

            Dusk was beginning to settle outside and the blinds were open. When Alasdair returned to the room, Arthur was sitting up and running a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it. Their eyes didn’t meet until Scotland was by his side again, wiping the cum off of Arthur’s skin.

            He’d though of taking the towel back to the bathroom, but Arthur’s hand on the back of his neck was a quiet demand he was more than willing to abide; so, letting the fabric fall to the floor, he followed Arthur’s lead down onto the bed, throwing the sheets to the side and pulling them back on around them when they settles somewhat comfortably more to the left of the bed than the middle. Arthur kissed him tiredly.

Words had never suited them well. They’d speak tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of you may know my story from ff.net and this "prelude" to it. I WILL be editing Bowmore 12 and posting it here soon. Maybe edit this shot too.


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